


Plume

by dalula



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:24:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalula/pseuds/dalula
Summary: Damara comforts a crying Mituna. That's it.





	Plume

**Author's Note:**

> tiny tiny thing for a ship only i care about

You don't know what he’s doing here, wandering around in your dream bubble, crying, but you glare daggers at him anyway. The tall, blue trees loom over you, eclipsing you both in pink-tinged shadow. You hide out here for the peace the memory of the forest grants you, a peace that this loud yellow-blood is interrupting.

Stupid boy. You hate yourself fiercely for the stirring of pale feelings for him but he’s so pathetic you can't help it. Everything about him is woeful. He’s taller than you but it doesn't feel like it, especially not as he writhes on the ground at your feet. You remember him from before, filled with dopey confidence; now he carries himself like he wants to shrink, back bent down and peeking through the hair in his eyes. Even with height on his side, you're heavier than him and your power outmatches any minuscule spark of psionics he might have retained since his accident. You have nothing to fear from him.

You ask him why he's here; he frowns and doesn't respond. You’re unsure of whether it's your accent confusing him or if his think pan is fried beyond help.

Sighing and rolling your blank eyes, you settle down next to him and pull his head into your lap. He struggles at first, hitting you limply with his fists, but calms once you bring your hands to his hair. You’re aware of his dislike for physical touch but sometimes needs must. You don't have a lot of experience in pale romance but you know enough to console him for now. Making your movements slow, you methodically brush your fingers through the strands, carefully unknotting the tangles. It takes a minute but eventually, the worst of the tension in his body fades under your attentive touch.

“Better?” You ask, as clearly as you can.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Can. Can you touch my hornth?”

To save replying, you do as he asks. You stroke each pair from base to tip in soothing glides, dipping into the scrapes and chips caused by his skateboard accidents. Deep purring starts up almost immediately, instinctively triggering your body to relax. You watch the last of his muscles loosen, besides the unavoidable involuntary twitches.

“Where’th Loth?” He slurs, eyes half-lidded. He’s like a wiggler, falling asleep in your arms.

You shrug. “Not here.”

You don’t particularly like Kurloz, nor do you trust him, but you admit he does well handling Mituna. 

“Can you thtay?” He’s barely understandable, almost unconscious. You resist the urge to roll your eyes again; it’s not like you’re able to move with him on top of you like this.

“はい.” Despite the language change, he doesn’t react. You watch his eyes droop until they close completely, shielding his white eyes from the sunlit canopy above him. He looks sweet, vulnerable. Inwardly, you scoff at how trusting he is, how naive this world has made him. Of all people, you are someone he should fear and run from, after what you did to your friends. Even so, you can’t help but be a little grateful of how guileless he is if that means you get some company beyond the occasional irritating visit from Rufioh. 

Your lap feels warm and you look down; he’s started drooling onto your skirt. What were you saying about being grateful? You take it back.


End file.
